katie's song
by sugar free vanilla
Summary: "And then she smiles softly as she gazes at her daughter, because darn it to heck if her little girl isn't a little bit in love with the boy down the hall and darn it even further if that isn't adorable." A highly AU chronology of oneshots.
1. Chapter 1

**So this started off as a oneshot, but by the time I was done it was fifteen thousand words. So, chapters. There'll be twelve, and it just so happens that's how long it is until I go on holiday (convenient or what?!) so an update a day. I'm counting today as Saturday even though it's Friday because there's only 24 minutes left to go for me anyhow and I don't think I'll have computer access at any point _actually_ tomorrow.**

**So this is based on _Mary's Song (Oh My My My) _by Taylor Swift and it is the cutest song and it melts me and just listen to it because _ugh emotions__. _This is very AU, by the way. Very fluffy also.**

**Disclaimer: I am definitely Andrew Marlowe _and _Taylor Swift. Definitely.**

* * *

_She said, I was seven and you were nine_

_I looked at you like the stars that shined_

_In the sky, the pretty lights_

"Mom! Mommy, there's someone at the door!" Seven-year old Katie Beckett lisps slightly, tugs at her mother's sleeve impatiently, little fingers grasping at the fabric. Johanna sighs, running a hand tiredly through her hair as she drops the files she's working on to the cluttered desk she sits behind. Katie notices this, plants a kiss on her mom's hand as she pulls her up and towards the front door. In turn, Johanna ruffles her hair and squeezes her daughter's shoulder gratefully. Katie grins. She loves making her mom happy.

Her eyes flick to the clock; it reads nine am, she recognises proudly. None of the other kids in her class can read _Roman numerals _like she can_. _She's been up three hours already, but her mom isn't expecting anyone this morning, she knows. Her auntie just got back from Europe, mentioned she might drop by this afternoon (with a promise to bring presentsand tales of her travels but most importantly _presents_) when she chattered to her on the phone the day before, but it's too early for that. So she hovers when Johanna opens the door, hugging her mother's waist as she curiously peeks around to see who's there, not sure what to expect.

It's certainly not a woman she's never seen before, hair the colour of a London bus and a flamboyant dress sense, desperation etched into her expression as she grips the wrist of a boy who's bouncing on the balls of feet, all barely contained energy and toothy grin.

He catches her eye, and his smile widens further. Suddenly shy, Katie ducks back out of sight, thankful for the shield her mom provides as she runs her tongue over the space where her front teeth had been until a couple of days before. She pops her head out again, shoots him a closed lipped smile before shrinking back with a soft giggle.

"Can I help you?" Her mother asks the stranger with a polite smile.

"Johanna Beckett, yes?" The woman asks, not giving Katie's mom a chance to reply before ploughing on. "I've had _the _most _disastrous _morning! Richard's nanny has had a family emergency and taken the day off but I have the audition of a lifetime in an hour. I know it's dreadfully cheeky of me - but I've spoken to your husband a few times in the building's lobby - and I don't know what to do and, _oh, _I'm just going to say it - would you terribly mind watching Richard for a few hours? He won't be any trouble; entertains himself, this one."

"Oh - you're Martha Rodgers! Jim's mentioned you." Katie perks up. She too has heard about Martha, the eccentric actress that lives on their floor whom, until now, she and her mom had never crossed paths with. Her daddy never said the performer had a _kid _though. "I'll look after him, of course - I know what it's like juggling work with a kid. I really admire you; no way I could do it alone."

"The nannies are a big help!" Richard pipes up with mischievous smirk.

"You watch it, kiddo." Martha swats at her son, but her tone is indulgent and the action playful. "Johanna darling, you are an absolute _saint_. Let me know if I can return the favour some time."

And then she's pushing Richard forward and disappearing in a flurry of bold colours and exotic print, leaving two surprised Becketts and a perfectly nonchalant boy.

Johanna ushers the boy in. "So your name is Richard, right?"

"Richard Rogers." He replies solemnly. The serious expression dissolves into a charming smile, a little dimple appearing in his chin. "But you can call me Ricky."

Her mother laughs delightedly as the boy kisses the back of her palm with a slight bow. "In that case, Ricky, you can call me Jo."

By now, Katie is feeling left out of things. Barrelling past her mother, she juts her chin out confidently. "I'm Katie." She blushes as Ricky takes her hand, just as he did her mom's. She absently realises she just picked up boy germs and might _die _if she doesn't wash them off. So she says "Ew," and rushes off to the bathroom, Rick staring after her, bemused.

"How old are you?" She asks when she comes back out, interrupting him as he regales her mom with a tale of aliens and evil rodents brandishing (she doesn't know what that means, wrinkles her nose and makes a note to ask her daddy when he's home) light sabers. Her mother admonishes her for butting in but Ricky looks at her with bright blue eyes full of excitement, not looking one bit put off that she had ruined his story, or that she had ran away when he kissed her hand.

"I'm nine, ten in April." He replies and Katie's eyes widen because ten is two hands and two hands is halfway to _all_ of the fingers and toes. "How about you?"

"I just turned seven."

"Cool! Your teeth are cool too. Or, well. Your lack of them." Katie's hand flies to her mouth self consciously, but he scoffs at her action. "No, seriously! It's nearly Christmas! You can sing the song." Katie narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. "Don't tell me you don't know the song!" When she shrugs, Ricky lets put an affronted gasp before breaking out into a rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth that has Katie giggling and Johanna clapping along.

Her mom applauds Ricky as he finishes with a deep bow before standing up from her perch on the sofa. "You two play, I'll rustle up some breakfast. Are you allergic to anything Ricky?"

"No, Mrs Beckett. Thank you so much for letting me stay here, by the way."

"It's my pleasure. And it's _Jo._" She ruffles his hair as she strides through to the kitchen, leaving the kids alone.

"Boy germs and girl germs aren't _real, _you know." Rick tells her. Katie blinks. _Oh_.

"Yeah, 'course." She folds her arms across her chest defensively. "Everyone knows that."

She expects him to argue, but he doesn't. "Awesome. Now, I was just telling Jo-" and then he sweeps her away into a world so real that she is completely immersed in it and together they fight away the giant rats and the Martians and they save New York and then _the mayor _gives them the key to the city.

Her mom calls them into the dining room, and they reluctantly break away from their make believe because Johanna informs them that heroes need to eat if they want to keep saving the day. Rick nods in agreement, before adding that pancakes are particularly good for disguising their smell so that the aliens can't sniff them out.

* * *

All through breakfast and for the rest of that day until Martha comes by to pick Ricky up, Katie's attention is entirely focused on her new friend. She loves his magical worlds and how he weaves her into them and when he goes home and her auntie comes over he's all she talks about.

"You should have seen how she looked at him." She hears her mom say as she scampers back into the living room clutching the picture she drew of the mayor awarding them with the key to New York to show her aunt. "It was like when we took her out to the cabin the first time and she could see the stars shining. Couldn't take her eyes away."

* * *

That night, Katie asks for Harry Potter as her bedtime story. Her mom's surprised, hadn't been able to convince her to give the book a go. "What's changed your mind, baby girl?"

"Not a baby." Katie frowns and Johanna apologises with an amused hum. "Ricky _really _likes Harry Potter."

"Ricky, huh? He's made quite the impression on you, hasn't he Katie?" She can't quite keep the teasing tone from her voice and Katie huffs and rolls her eyes.

"Just read me the book, Mom."

Johanna does, and Katie adores the story from the very first page. But she's tired (saving New York from aliens and mutant rodents takes its toll, you know) and when she dozes off, her mom dog ears the page and brushes a kiss to her daughter's forehead.

And then she smiles softly as she gazes at her daughter, because darn it to heck if her little girl isn't a little bit in love with the boy down the hall and darn it even further if that isn't _adorable._


	2. Chapter 2

**I just wanted to clarify something about the timeline here. I meant to say this in the first a/n but I totally forgot, so here it is: ****I, being sixteen years old, am not hot on the decades previous to the nineties (which I can just about cope with) but I obviously have more experience with the 21st century. So I'm kind of moving everything up so that Rick was born April '91, Kate was born November '93 in order to make things easier for myself.**

**Didn't think I'd get the chance to update this today... but I have! Thanks for all the favourites and follows and reviews etc etc, you guys are the best.**

**Disclaimer: ... (is it really necessary?)**

* * *

_And our daddies used to joke about the two of us_

_Growing up and falling in love and our mamas smiled_

_And rolled their eyes and said oh my my my_

_"_What shall we play, Ricky?" Katie is eight and he is eleven and they are spending the glorious late spring day in Central Park. Martha and Johanna have gone for a stroll while Jim keeps an eye on the kids over the top of his newspaper from a bench a few feet away.

Ricky rolls his eyes. "It's not _playing _Katie. It's believing and it's creating. It's not about a game, it's about making something real." He sounds pretentious and Katie elbows him for being pompous.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." She replies as he yelps in pain. "Which world? Ooooh! Can we do underwater spies? No! Explorers mapping a brand new planet. Yeah, let's do explorers."

He wrinkles his nose. "We were _spacecartographers_ last time we were here. No, it's time for a new story."

She looks at him expectantly. "Okay."

"Why don't you think it up, Katie? What do you want to be?"

"I want you to decide, Ricky. It's always more fun when you do. It's so real." She says pleadingly, so he acquiesces. He closes his eyes for a second and she takes in the expression she knows so well, has seen hundreds of times before. Behind his closed lids, she can see the constant flicker of his eyes even as his lips quirk and a furrow appears between his eyebrows.

Then he looks to her, his face alive. "Okay, so you're Detective Beckett and you solve crimes. You're the best in all of New York. There's not a crime you can't solve. You're extraordinary." She can't help but preen slightly, even if his words are for the fictional her. "And I'm a writer and together we solve crimes, 'cause I write books based on you. Kind of like Holmes and Watson, except writing is actually my job."

"So I'm Detective Beckett and you're Writer Rodgers?" Katie giggles.

He shakes his head. "Nah, Rogers is boring. I'll be... Castle. Yeah."

"How come you get a new name and I don't?" She's indignant, frowning at him.

"Beckett is a good name for a detective. I like it. You can change it if you want though." He shrugs. She shakes her head quickly, looks at him eagerly to start pulling together the threads that will make the scenario come to life.

"The sky is dark, storm clouds blanketing Manhattan. Detective Beckett lies awake, despite the late hour; she knows something is coming - and sure enough, her phone rings. 'Detective,' her captain tells her. 'There's been a murder.'" His words wrap around her and transform her from little girl to savvy detective. She can feel the chill from the bad weather in his tale even as the sun beats down, the thrill of the call to the crime racing through her. "Beckett calls her partner, Castle. And although he isn't a cop like her, there's nobody she would rather have backing her up. They arrive at the scene and the body is _skinless,_ with no teeth or eyes_. _They know it's gonna be a tough one, but if anyone can solve it, it's Beckett and Castle. They share a look, and then begin to investigate..."

And then they do, following the trail of clues they find - bloody fingerprints on the swing set, a tooth at the bottom of the tree, a scrap of skin by the climbing frame. And the clues lead right over to-

"Daddy. You are under arrest for murder. You have the right to remain silent."

Jim Beckett manages not to laugh as his little girl approaches him, face deadly serious as she tries to loop her little hands around his wrists. "Curses! However did you catch me?" He says instead, pulling a face.

Ricky launches into a long winded retelling of the 'investigation', Katie adding details every time Ricky pauses to take a breath (which is worryingly infrequently) and Jim shakes his head at the incredible imaginations the two possess. Grimaces slightly, because the story is more than a little bit gruesome and he's always been a bit squeamish. Jim admits his guilt with a 'I would've gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids' at which Katie throws him a withering look. He winces. So like her mother.

"We aren't kids. I am Detective Beckett of the NYPD and this is my partner, Castle. He's a writer."

'Castle' nods in confirmation. "And we have more crimes to solve. We'll see you in court, sir. I hope you have a good lawyer."

And then they're running off, hot on the trail of a new case.

The man sitting next to him with a worn copy of Casino Royale couldn't help but watch the scene unfold, turns to Jim with a chuckle. "They both your kids?" Jim eyes him suspiciously for a second before deciding the guy is just being friendly.

"No, just her. He's a friend of hers. They've been inseparable for two years now.'

"Ah, sounds exactly like my sister and her husband. Childhood sweethearts. They'll end up married, mark my words." The stranger says with a chuckle.

"Oh, I've no doubt about it." Jim answers, laughing.

"Oh _my_, my, my." The dramatic tones of Martha float across to them with Johanna's softer tones echoing the sentiment. They both turn to see the pair, amusement etched on both their faces.

"You aren't disagreeing." Jim teases, only to see Martha has stopped dead in her tracks, looking as if she's seen a ghost.

"...Jackson?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews and follows and favourites! Really unsure about this one but oh well. It's also short. Meh. **

_Take me back to the house in the backyard tree_

_Said you'd beat me up, you were bigger than me_

_You never did, you never did_

It's summer vacation for Katie, has been for almost a week. She's counting down the days until Rick finishes school, until he and Martha join them at her parents' cabin by the lake. She's excitedly bouncing around, much to her mother's amusement, waiting for her Dad to return from the city with the Rodgers.

"It's been _so _long since I've seen him, Mom."

"Six days, Katie."

"Six, _long_ days. With nobody except you and Dad around to entertain me."

"Are we not good enough for you anymore, Katherine Houghton Beckett?" Her mother asks, folding her arms across her chest in a show of faux-offense.

"Ugh, Mom, don't call me that. And you guys are great and all, but you're not _Ricky."_

"Well, there's nobody quite like Ricky."

"True." Katie snorts a laugh, thinking of her eccentric friend.

"You gonna admit you like him yet Katie?"

She feigns ignorance. "Of course I like him, Mom. He's my best friend."

She meets her mother's disbelieving gaze with a defiantly set mouth and a raised eyebrow, forcing herself not to blush. Because even if she maybe possibly kinda sorta _did _have a crush on Ricky (which she absolutely definitely completely totally does _not), _she would not admit it to her mother.

She hears the key turn in the lock, resists the urge to sprint to the door only because she doesn't want to see the knowing glint in her mom's eye. Instead, she waits a few seconds before walking out to the hall. She greets Martha, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Ricky is nowhere to be seen but before she can even ask where he is, his mother speaks. "Richard's had a bad day Katherine, sweetheart. I think he just wants to be alone for a bit, doesn't want to talk to anyone. He went for a walk, said he'd be down by the lake." Martha stops Katie before she can head out the door to find him. "He's not in the best of moods, dear. Maybe if you just let him stew alone for a while?"

"He'll want to talk to me." Katie replies stubbornly, pushing past her father and out the door.

"The bullying is getting worse," she hears Martha say sadly as she walks away from the house and Katie feels a stab of pain for her best friend. She's seen him with bruises and scabs and those don't bother him so much but it's the cruel words that get him, the way words have always resonated with him. He hides it from her, tries to anyway, but she knows. Knows him.

She doesn't head to the lake, instead goes the other way to where she's certain he'll really be. She climbs the ladder tied to the tree, pops her head into the little wooden house her dad built amidst the branches and sure enough, he's in there, hunched in a corner. Not crying, doesn't think she's ever seen Ricky cry but he looks so much younger than his twelve years as he sits there with his eyes closed, arms wrapped around himself as if he'll break apart if he lets go.

"Go away, Katie. I don't want to talk to you." He doesn't even look at her as he speaks, stays motionless aside from the movement of his mouth. She ignores the hurt that burns in her throat, kneels next to him and attempts to put her arms around him. He shakes her off, this time fixing her with a glare. "I said _go away."_

"Make me." She fires back, refusing to be swayed.

"I could make you. I'm bigger than you. Stronger. I could beat you up."

She's heard that so many times before, but he never has. Never would. Not in a million years would he dream of purposely hurting her and they both know it. "Ricky…"

"-Rick." He says sharply. "It's Rick now. I'm not a child anymore." There's a silent _Like you _tagged onto the end of that sentence and she feels her stomach crawl. Because she knows she's part of the reason he gets picked on, because he spends so much of his time with a nine year old girl.

"What, and I am?" Katie says angrily. "You're gonna let some stupid bullies ruin our friendship after nearly four years?"

"What?! Katie, _no!_" He finally hugs her back, appalled she could think he didn't want to be friends with her anymore. "I told you we'll always be friends. Always."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, Katie." He holds her closer. "I missed you this week. You miss me?"

"Nope," She pops her lip on the 'P', grins cheekily as she leans into him. But then _Rick_ sneaks his hands round her rib cage and he's tickling her until she can't breathe and she surrenders. "Yes! Yes, I missed you. Now get off." She shoves him away and she smiles at him as he grins at her.

"Thanks for coming after me Katie."

"Yeah, well. Couldn't have you moping around all summer." She nudges his side and he laughs quietly. They sit for a moment in silence before he turns to her. She recognises that look on his face and she bites her lip in anticipation.

"Detective Beckett." He whispers solemnly. "There's been a homicide, down by the lake."

"Lead the way, Castle."


	4. Chapter 4

**Couldn't post this yesterday because the computer was on the fritz. My mother has kindly loaned me her laptop though, so I can post now! This is really short and also Christmassy even though it's mid-July. YOLO, as Drake would say. Thanks for all the feedback and alerts and I keep meaning to reply to reviews but I've been crappy and I'm sorry but seriously, sincere gratitude for each and every little comment.**

**(If you maybe want to follow me on tumblr, my url is castleholic dot tumblr dot com)**

_Take me back when our world was one block wide_

_I dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried _

_Just two kids, you and I..._

_Oh my my my my_

It's Christmas Eve, and the Becketts are at the Roger's apartment, the adults sipping mulled wine in the living room while Katie and Rick decorate the gingerbread house the two made that afternoon. Katie is methodical and careful as she ices the window and doors, while Rick is attempting write 'Merry Christmas' on the roof in an illegible scrawl.

"Riii-iick," she whines. "You're ruining it!"

"Am not."

"Are too."

He sticks his tongue out at her by way of reply, but gives up on the icing, instead grabbing the array of sweets they have in front of them. For every one he sticks to the confection, he eats two. Katie grabs his ear, twisting it as he reaches for a marshmallow. "Rick!" He huffs, but withdraws his hand.

"Alright, _Mom._" He snarks, rubbing at his abused ear.

"You'll be thanking me for it when your teeth don't fall out."

"Ugh. I hate when you're right."

"Which is always."

"Please. How about that time when you thought _Asia _was in _China?_"

"Rick! Jeez, that was four years ago! I was eight. Are you ever gonna let that go?"

He pretends to consider it, scrunching his nose and stroking an imaginary beard. "Uh…. No."

She retaliates by throwing a gumdrop at his head, but he catches it in his mouth. "Thanks, Katie." He winks. He's been winking a lot since he _finally_ learnt how to do it. Only took him fourteen years.

"You want cocoa?" He asks suddenly. "I want cocoa." She laughs at his short attention span and then nods.

"Ask Mom if she wants some. She _loves _your cocoa." Katie thinks her mom might like it a little less if she saw how many unhealthy things went into Rick's version of the drink, even if it does taste fantastic.

"Yeah, good idea." And then he's flying out to the living room, calling out "Hey, Jo!" as he goes. It's then Katie notices the mistletoe in the doorway of the kitchen. Bites her lip as her heart thumps in her chest, heads to wait for him under it. As usual he's not looking where he's going, bumps right into her. "Katie?"

She flicks her eyes upwards and he follows her gaze. "Mistletoe, Rick. You have to kiss me. I dare ya." Her hands are clammy and she can feel the tips of her ears burning and as soon as he leans down, she skips away. Instantly kicks herself mentally but plays it cool.

"God, Rick. I was joking." She laughs it off, turns back to the gingerbread house as he nods in confusion and goes about making his cocoa, melting chocolate buttons, both white and milk and stirring it in with the hot chocolate, before crushing a 'flake' and mixing that in too. If the two of them agree on anything, it's that British chocolate is better than most American kinds. As such, Rick insists on spending the majority of his allowance on it and, to Katie's pleasure, he's always willing to share.

He carefully carries out a mug-full to Johanna when he's finished his concoction, adding a large handful of mini marshmallows for good measure. He stays for a while, chatting with the adults and Katie's about to join them when he returns with a grin. "Your mom _really _does love my cocoa, doesn't she?" He hands a cup to Katie, swooping in with a soft kiss to her cheek as she does so. She gapes up at him and he winks. "When have you ever known me to back down from a dare?"

Katie _loves_ Christmas.


	5. Chapter 5

**This is cringy. Like, really. Ugh at me. **

_Well, I was sixteen when suddenly_

_I wasn't that little girl you used to see_

_But your eyes still shined like pretty lights_

He's fourteen and she's twelve when he has his first real kiss at his school's winter formal. She doesn't cry the night he tells her about it, excited and smitten and smug. She doesn't. It's just hayfever. In December.

He goes out with the girl for a while, and it stings when he tells her about his dates, until one day he tells her that they broke up. "She didn't like me hanging out with you so much, so I told her to stuff it. You'll always be my number one girl, Katie." And then it's all better because she knows she will never be replaced.

Then he fills out, and suddenly he's less of a boy and more of a man. He's gorgeous and all of her friends are head over heels in love with him and the Ricky Rodgers that got picked on is long gone. His charming manner that once made him seem odd distinguishes him from the cruder teenage boys in his class at school, his amazing sense of humour drawing people to him wherever he goes. He dates surprisingly little, never stringing along girls he has no interest in just to get some action. But the girls he _does_ go out with are always beautiful and clever and funny and Katie kind of wants to hate them but she can't because they're all too damn nice.

She wants him to be jealous when she tells him about her first kiss with Evan Yates at thirteen but he ruffles her hair and coos at her. "My little Katie, all grown up!"

"It's Kate." Only he and her parents still call her Katie, she's been Kate since middle school started. And she hasn't minded the continued use of her childhood nickname until now because she doesn't want him to see her a child anymore because she _isn't_ and it's so _infuriating_.

"Alright, Kate." But his tone is amused, as if he's humouring her and she storms out and back down the hall to her own apartment. He apologises the next day, and it's sincere and she forgives him because he's him and she's her and they're them.

Surprisingly, it's not a date with any boy that stops him from seeing her as a kid. It's a few days after her sixteenth and he's yelling at her in abject horror because she's just told him she's only gone and got herself a _motorbike_ with her birthday money and "Kate, you're going to get yourself _killed. _Motorbikes aren't toys! You're just a kid-"

"I am _not _a kid, Rick. I am sixteen years old and you aren't that much older than me so will you _please_ get off that high horse of yours because I am _so sick_ of you treating me like a child." She's yelling and he rocks back on his heels, shocked, because they don't yell at each other _ever._ And then something like realisation washes over his face, and he's looking at her in a way that makes her chest tighten until she can barely breathe.

It's like he's _really_ looking at her for the first time and he likes what he sees. "You're right." His voice is gruff, sends a shiver down her spine. "You aren't a kid. I'm sorry - you're right. The bike is your call and you're responsible and _not a kid. _Not a kid. You're not - God, Kate, you're-" He's leaning in close and her heart is thrumming like a hummingbird and her gaze flicks to his lips and his to hers and-

"Richard, darling?" Martha's voice echoes from the living room. "Are you home?"

He lurches back, shaking his head. "Sorry, Kate, I- I don't know what came over me there." It feels like a blow to her gut. And then he heads out the room to greet his mother, leaving Kate sitting on his bed with her pulse echoing loudly through her brain and she's filled with resolve that _damn it_ if he doesn't make a move anytime soon she'll be taking matters into her own hands.

He walks her back to her apartment, despite her protests ("Rick, I live three doors down the hall. I think I'll manage").

"Kate, I'm really sorry for how I was acting earlier. And before earlier. It wasn't fair of me to treat you like a child when you are already at least sixty nine times more mature than I am now." She smacks his arm for the joke, letting out an amused huff.

And then she grabs the front of his shirt and crushes him to her. He barely has time to let out a startled "Kate! What?-" before she's kissing him with abandon. He doesn't respond for a few terrifying seconds but then one hand tangles in her hair, the other cupping her cheek and it's everything she's dreamed of and more and she feels like her blood is fizzing, like it's been replaced with champagne and her there's a supernova behind the lids of her closed eyes; bright and fantastic and burning, and then he's jerking away and she looks up and her dad is right _there._

"Mr. Beckett - I - hi." Rick stutters, and Kate laughs because he's _never _called her father anything except Jim and now he's stumbling over his words because they've just been caught kissing. _Kissing. _Her and Rick. Kissing. She can't suppress the grin that threatens to split her face apart and even in his nervousness, it seems nor can Rick.

"Well, it's about damn time, you two." Jim winks at the both of them (she secretly agrees with the statement), even if he's turned a little red from seeing his only daughter in a heated liplock. Not really something he ever wanted to witness, but as long as it's Rick, he figures it's okay. "Now, you two better come in and tell Jo because she's been waiting for this for nine years."

"Dad - we've not even spoken about-" Kate starts because she honestly doesn't know what they are but Rick stops her, squeezes her hand.

"Well, it's only fair we let her know we're together then." There's a question in his voice, directed at Kate and she squeezes his hand back, lifting onto tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. Together - God, just this morning she was stuck in her belief that Rick would never see her as anything more than a kid. And now…!

* * *

It turns out they didn't need to tell Johanna anything. She took one look at the pair of them, squealed and rushed to get her camera, taking what seemed like a thousand photos of the new couple when all Kate wanted to do was continue the make-out session that her father had interrupted and oh, she also needs to call Maddie. Like, now.

She abandons Rick to the mercy of her mother's new DSLR and retreats to her bedroom, grinning as her friend shrieks _you lucky bitch_ down the line.

There's a knock on her door, and Rick pops his head round. He looks kind of shy, she realises, for the first time in nine years of knowing him. "Hey, Kate? Do you wanna go out for dinner?"

"Like a date?"

"Not like a date." And maybe her face falls a little because he hastens to continue. "Not _like a date. _An actual date."

"Yeah, Rick. I'd love to."

The grin that blossoms across Kate's lips is mirrored on his face, his eyes lit up and shining in a way they only ever do for her.


	6. Chapter 6

**This is probably a little sickening, but ah well. Thank you for reviewing/following/favouriting!**

_And our daddies used to joke about the two of us_

_They never believed we'd really fall in love_

_And our mamas smiled and rolled their eyes_

_And said oh my my my..._

They're sitting in Central Park, side by side on the swings they've favoured since they were little. It's early March and a little cold out still, but Rick sacrificed his coat and it's wrapped around her shoulders. He claims he doesn't need it, that his sweater keeps him snug. She's not sure she believes him, but hey, he _offered_ his coat. If he wanted it, he should've kept it on.

"Hey, Kate." He murmurs, getting her attention.

"Mmm, Rick?" She reaches over, tangles her fingers with his.

"You know you're my best friend and always will be, right?" She nods cautiously, something like panic bubbling in her stomach because this sounds kind of like a break up speech so far and she does _not _want to go back to being just friends. Although, if that's the only option left to her she'll take it; take him in anyway, as long as he's in her life. "We've know each other for so long. You know me better than anyone, can read me like a book. Every time you walk into a room, it brightens for me, did you know that?" The hot anxiety in her stomach cools. Sounding less and less like a break up speech. He doesn't seem to know quite what it is he wants to say though, or at least how to _get_ to it because he pauses for a moment before taking a different direction. "Do you remember that first day we met? My mother dumped me at your apartment, I kissed your hand and you ran off because you thought I gave you cooties? And then we played some imaginary thing we made up-"

"Martians and evil rodents."

"What?"

"We defeated the martians and mutant rat-gerbil things with light sabres and then the mayor gave us a key to the city."

"You remember?!" His eyes are wide, smile jubilant, gaze adoring. Her heart stutters in its rhythm.

"Not a lot I forget when it comes to you." Kate mumbles, a blush rising up on her cheeks. He squeezes the hand he's holding.

"I was just thinking. The other day, this is. I was thinking how if that never happened… maybe this wouldn't have happened. Maybe we wouldn't have happened - and this - us - it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. _You're _the best thing that's ever happened to me and - what I'm trying to say is -"

"Spit it out, Rick." Kate teases playfully, hooking an ankle around his. "You're meant to be good with words."

"Yeah, well. You leave me speechless, Katherine Beckett." He hesitate for a moment. "What I'm trying to say is… I trust you. I trust you with my secrets, with my life. Kate, I trust you with my heart. I'm in love with you, Kate. I'm _so _in love with you."

She's frozen and she can't move or breathe or think and she knew that he loved her, but oh God he's _in _love with her and she's been in love with him for so long and-

"Kate?" He sounds terrified and she understands her silence and motionlessness are probably not the reaction he was hoping for but she knows if she so much as moves a muscles she is going to cry and she does not want to cry and - oh. Too late.

"Rick…!" Her voice escapes in a breathy sob and she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him for all she's worth. "I love you too, God, so much. So much."

* * *

They can hardly keep their hands off each other the whole way home, but Kate has to go out for dinner for her cousin's birthday. "I could say I'm sick?" She mumbles hopefully against his lips. "'Cause I am. _Love_ sick." He snorts out a laugh.

"Jesus, Kate. That was terrible."

"Shut up." And then she kisses him again.

He pops in with her to her apartment to say hey to Jo and Jim, only to find his mother there too.

"Ah, Richard! I was wondering when you two would be back. I need you to help out at the show tonight. One of the stage crew is sick so we're a man down."

"No problem, Mother. Hi Jo, Jim." Martha is already rushing him out the door, but he makes a grab for Kate, planting a chaste peck on her lips. "Love you." He whispers.

"Love you too." She calls after him. She turns around to see her parents grinning at her. Johanna looks watery eyed, murmuring _oh my my my _while Jim steps forward and takes Kate in his arms, holds her close.

"My baby girl." His voice is gruff with emotion. "We always used to joke about the two of you falling in love - never actually thought-"

"I did," Johanna disagrees. "I absolutely knew. I told you so!"

* * *

"Oh my, my, my." His mother elbows him in the ribs.

"What?" Martha rolls her eyes.

"You're _in_ love with her, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I saw this coming from day one."

"Of course you did."

"Mother's intuition never lies."

"Oh, really? And what else does that mother's intuition of yours tell you?"

She gives him a wicked smile, squeezes his arms. "It tells me you're going to marry that girl someday, Richard."

He ducks his head bashfully because he's eighteen, too young to even _think_ about marriage. Yet, he really can't say he'd mind if his mother's prediction proved true.

He wouldn't mind at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**I know I said the last one was sickening, but this update takes the cake. Not sure I'll be able to update tomorrow, but definitely Sunday! Thanks for reading/reviewing/following/favouriting!**

_Take me back to the creek beds we turned up_

_Two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me_

"Rick, this is ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous," He counters childishly, smile wide as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel of his _truck. _His truck. Of all the cars to own in New York City, he goes for a truck.

"Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"I never told you."

"It's two am, Rick. You show up at my door in the middle of the night, insist I pack an overnight bag and practically drag me into your truck. I feel like I deserve an explanation."

"Yeah, well. It's difficult navigating traffic in this thing during the day.

"I don't see why you don't just _sell _the damn thing. You've got your bike now. So much more convenient."

"Ah, yes. But, see, for when I journey somewhere in your companionship - which, much to my pleasure, is frequently - I need the truck."

"I've got a bike too!" Kate protests.

"Exactly." His lip quirks as he regards her, taking his eyes off the road for a brief second.

She frowns. "And what _exactly _does that mean?"

"It means that you are a menace to society when you are on that bike - even if you look smoking hot at the same time - and that I value my life enough to not ride anywhere with you."

Her lips tightly pursed, she scowls at him. "Well, that just completely defies the whole purpose of you buying that Harley in the first place."

"Nah, it doesn't." Rick grins, roguishly. "Because I look smoking hot when I'm on the bike, too."

She lets out a snort of amusement, smacking him in the arm.

"Oh, Kate. What a delicately feminine laugh you have!" She snorts again, catches herself and glares at him, instead letting out an - entirely faked - dainty little giggle. "Ugh." He responds. "I much prefer your swine-like grunt."

"You are so dead."

"Nuh-uh, Kate. I'm driving. No maiming while I'm at the wheel, we have a deal."

"Anyway... You never answered me - where are we going and more importantly… why?"

Rick lets out a sigh, as if he is entirely hard-done-by; like dragging her out of bed at stupid o'clock did not make her deserving of the knowledge of his plans, but he's giving it to her anyway. "It's your parents' twenty fifth wedding anniversary next week."

"You say that like that's meant to be a helpful clue."

"You know those creek beds out by your folks' cabin? All dried up?"

"The ones they've been saying they're gonna turn into a rock garden for years?"

"_Yes! _And that's what we're going to do! So, when they come up here on their anniversary it'll be ready, waiting. Well, it's what _I'm _going to do. You're here to stop me getting lonely, although you're more than welcome to help."

"Rick - this is actually a really… _sweet _idea."

"You sound surprised. You know your parents might as well be mine for how much I love them."

"And vice versa. I'm kinda annoyed though. I wish I'd thought of that."

"Well, we can't all be geniuses." Rick preens. She rolls her eyes fondly, laughs at how much of a goof her boyfriend is. "You wound me, Katie Houghton.

"I do try, Ricky Alexander."

"Have I ever told you I don't like you?"

"Yep." She pops the _p_, smacking her lips together. "But I figure that's ok, because we both know you love me."

"Ugh. True."

"You wouldn't have it any other way."

His voice is quieter, more sincere, when he responds. "I wouldn't have you any other way. You're perfect to me, ya know that Kate? I love your flaws as much as I love your virtues because they're all a part of what makes you who you are, who I love. And who you are is extraordinary."

"You and your words, Rick." She mumbles, hiding the warble that threatens to make itself known in her voice as she swipes at her eyes before tears can even fall. "I love you too. Even if I can't put it as eloquently as you."

"I'm sure you could if you tried… Tell you what; I'll give you a few hours, and then you can run a rough draft by me."

"Oh, the romance. Running a 'rough draft' of my declaration of love by you so you can - what? Offer me constructive criticism?"

"Sounds good to me."

"I can't believe I'm in love with you." Kate says exasperatedly, even as she smiles at him, joyful and loving. "You're a dork."

"A ruggedly handsome dork."

"My ruggedly handsome dork."

He takes one hand off of the wheel, pulls her hand to his mouth, softly brushing his lips against the back of it. He squeezes it before he releases, whispering _their_ word against her skin, tiny hairs standing on end as his breath washes over them.

"Always."


	8. Chapter 8

**So sorry it took me so long to post this; major technical issues. Also this put me behind my posting schedule, and I'm about to go away for two weeks soooo... it'll be a while before the next chapter. I suck, I know.**

_Take me back to the time we had our very first fight_

_The slamming of doors instead of kissing goodnight_

_You stayed outside till the morning light_

_Oh my my my my_

Delicious anticipation curls in Kate's stomach, hands smoothing the silk of her dress as she checks her reflection in the mirror. She wants to look good, hasn't seen Rick in two months and now she's surprising him at the book launch for his first novel, the one she had told him she couldn't make it to.

She just hopes his reaction upon seeing her tonight will make up for the crestfallen expression he tried so hard to hide when she told him she'd miss the event. She loves Stanford, but _God _she wishes it weren't so damn far away from New York. From Rick.

But she'd flown home, made arrangements with her professors to catch up on anything she's missing. Because she's so proud of him, so proud of the novel he wrote; the one she was the first to read, the one she encouraged him to send to publishers. And there's _no way_ she'd ever miss this book party, not in a million years.

Her dad knocks on her bedroom door, calls out that he and Johanna are about to leave, and unless she wants to make her own way to the event she better get herself downstairs. One last swipe of mascara and then she tucks the tube into her clutch, hurries out to meet her parents.

There's paparazzi and a red carpet and it seems awfully _big _for a first book; Rick has no reputation preceding him, no slew of best sellers to validate the press and the glamour.

Yet.

The Becketts turn over their invitations to the bouncer at the foot of the red carpet. It's a surreal experience, walking down the narrow strip of crimson, lightbulbs flashing and paparazzi yelling names, some of which she doesn't recognise, others she does.

It's a cry of "Mr. Patterson - James Patterson - over here!" that has her grasping at her mother's sleeve, her lips forming a perfect _O_ as she twists her neck only to see her (_second) _favourite author mere feet behind her.

Her father lets out a grunt like noise of impressed approval. "Little Ricky Rodgers has hit the big leagues, it seems."

"_Castle, _you mean." Johanna corrects with a wry smile. Kate shakes her head, corners of her mouth twisting up in faint amusement. Can't believe he actually changed his name to mirror their childhood game. "Now all that's left is for you to become a detective, Katie." Her mother laughs and Kate winces internally; she hasn't got around to telling anyone that she's switching her major from Russian Literature to Criminal Law and has every intention of enrolling at the New York Police Academy upon graduating. The teasing will be merciless, she knows - exactly why she's yet to share her decision.

They're met at the door of the venue by servers offering them a glass of champagne each - Kate's glad she looks older than her twenty years, as her age isn't questioned as she accepts the flute. She rolls her eyes at the life size cardboard cutouts of her boyfriend that adorn the entrance, a flicker of warmth sparking through her at the sight of that crooked grin of his. Suddenly, her excitement about seeing the real thing multiplies a thousand fold and she pushes through the small crowd hovering in the foyer, moves into the main reception hall. She stands in wonder for a moment, pride swelling her heart as she gazes upon the table, piled high with his novel _In a Hail of Bullets_. Distracted from her goal of finding the author, she makes a beeline to mountain of books. Picking one up, she traces the title and then his name with a single finger, flips the book over to see his face smirking up at her from the back cover. The oh-so familiar expression has her rolling her eyes. Flicking open the book, her eyes catch on the dedication and a ridiculous surge of love storms through her.

_To the extraordinary KB,_

_There's been a homicide, down by the lake._

She bites her lip in a fruitless attempt to contain her smile, blinks back the tears that threaten to form. Because he's dedicated his novel to _her_, to the summers they spent playing at solving crimes down by the lake at her father's cabin and she realises with a jolt that he drew more inspiration from their make-believe than she'd realised, details in the novel that had felt somehow familiar to her coming straight from their games.

Kate lets the smile be free, eyes darting round the room, looking for the man of the hour. She can't see him, but there's a large crowd near the bar - he's likely to be ensconced in the fray, she registers, makes her way closer. Only to wish she hadn't.

There is a gorgeous blonde hanging off his arm, whispering something in his ear - close, too close to be platonic. He grins, turns his head into her cheek, murmurs something against her jaw that has her throwing her head back laughing, one hand flat against his chest. And if that isn't enough to have her turning away, the next action certainly is.

Because he sight of _her_ boyfriend signing the voluptuous chest of yet another blonde beauty is not one which is welcome to her. The smile drops off her face, replaced by a flash of hurt and then a scowl. Kate's stood frozen in place when he looks up. Her eyes narrow as he spots her, grinning in delighted surprise and pushing through the hoard surrounding him to embrace her in a tight hug, not seeming the least bit remorseful. She's stiff in his arms, doesn't relax even when he murmurs in her ear. "You look... beautiful, stunning; God, there's no words for how you look. I'm so glad you could make it." Instead the words leave her cold, wondering how many other women he's said the same thing to. So when he releases her, she turns and strides away, all joy and pride forgotten and replaced by aching hurt. His gaze mocks her from every direction, posters and cutouts and screens displaying his roguish smile, twinkling eyes fixed on her. Then there's a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around and she's met with the significantly more concerned looking stare of the actual man.

"Kate?" He's confused and anger bubbles in her throat, tightens her chest. She doesn't trust herself to speak without her voice breaking and _damn it_ because she's angry and wants to yell. So she shakes him off, notices that a door at the back of the hall is propped open. She ducks behind a display as she walks past her parents who are clearly searching for her. Looking back only once, as she slips through the discreet exit, she sees Rick desperately trying to look over the heads of the expensively-dressed people attempting to get his attention, searching for her.

Too bad.

Kate walks past the socialites sharing anecdotes about their latest partying escapades over cigarettes, past the bored looking guards making sure nobody sneaks in the back without an invite. She knows Rick can't follow her, can't leave the party and her shoulders drop from where she'd had them defensively hunched around her ears without noticing, a shaky exhale escaping her lungs.

The way he'd been so at ease with the women throwing themselves at him, pleased to be signing their bare flesh sent a shudder revulsion up her spine - it seemed as though nothing had been out of place, as if having girls draped over his entire body is an everyday occurrence. _Maybe it is, _whispers a bitter little voice, laced with insecurity and jealousy. And God, she hates it but she finds herself believing the whisper in the back of her mind; she hasn't seen him in months and he's a good looking guy upon the cusp of fame. What red blooded male _wouldn't_ have his head turned by having so many good looking women after him?

Rick, she'd hoped. But apparently not.

She hails a taxi and is grateful to be able to flag one down so quickly, desperate to cleanse herself of some of the hurt in her chest via a hot bath. But before she can shut the door, another body is swinging in beside her.

"Kate, what's the matter?"

"Rick - what the hell - you can't -" She stutters, a mix of anger, hurt and surprise tainting her voice. "You can't just _leave _your own book party."

"The hell I can't." He growls, "You're upset, and that means I have more important things to deal with than a bit of self promotion-"

"A bit - ?! Rick, _James Patterson _is there. The _mayor - _important people! You have to go back." She's shoving at his chest but he remains stubbornly unmoved.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong." She's aware of the cab driver smirk as the meter runs without them even having moved and winces at what the ride is going to cost her if she doesn't force him to go back soon.

So Kate tells him what he wants to know. "_You, _Rick. You're what's wrong." She spits. "Now get the hell out." She pushes at him harder this time, throwing her body weight behind it. Losing his balance, he tumbles out of the taxi, landing with an _oof_ on the side of the road. "Hope you find a nice celebutante tonight, _Castle." _She snarls, slamming the door and snapping out her address to the driver.

She's leaning against the elevator wall on the way up to her floor, already rummaging in her purse for the key to her parents' apartment. She swipes a hand over her face as the doors open, feeling a weary ache settle over her bones, an unwelcome blanket of hurt.

She's inserting the key into the lock when she's startled by several thumps in quick succession and then a wheezing pant. Rick emerges from the stairwell, still in his tux, one hand clutching at his ribs as he used the other to support himself against the wall. "Kate," his voice is a breathless gasp. "Wait!"

"Why should I?" Her voice escapes as a venomous hiss and he visibly flinches, sending a wave of vindictive satisfaction through her.

"Because - I don't understand what I did wrong. Just, explain - please? So I can fix it."

"You seriously don't know?" Disbelief colours her voice. "I guess most of your brainpower is focused on all of the _boobs _you've been staring at, signing tonight - maybe on the blonde hanging off of your arm? Definitely distracted you enough for you to forget you have a _girlfriend._" Her voice shakes with barely contained fury.

And then he has the audacity to laugh and all bets are off. He's drawn closer through her tirade so two quick steps are all she needs to take before she throws her arms out, striking him in the chest with enough force that he staggers backwards, hitting the wall.

"You think it's so funny?" Angry tears form in her eyes but she blinks them away frustratedly. "If you're not happy with me - if I'm not enough for you - I know we haven't seen each other in a while but… God, it's not like I haven't had offers. But _I've _not strayed - I could never - I never thought _you _would do this."

Any remaining vestiges of amusement tumble from his face at her words. "You think I'm cheating on you?"

"Well, you and that blonde seemed awfully cosy." She hates the bitterness in her voice.

"What - you mean _Gina? _She's my editor. My editor!" And then a spark of hurt and maybe a hint of anger flare in his own eyes. "I can't believe you'd think so little of me, Kate. Four years, we've been in this relationship - best friends nine years before that. How could you-"

"How could I?! Maybe because she was _all over _you and you weren't stopping her, looked perfectly content. Maybe because you were signing chests left, right and centre. Maybe because, aside from texts, we've spoken maybe three times this month!"

"And that's all my fault?" His voice is raised now. "Forgotten about how I planned to visit you the other week and you cancelled because you wanted to take a camping trip with some of your classmates that weekend instead?"

Kate winces slightly, because maybe she's at least equally to blame for their recent lack of communication. She opens her mouth to say as much but he's not done.

"The only reason you saw that whole spectacle is because the publishing company want me to come across as a kind of elusive playboy - they say it'll sell more books, so Gina was trying to help me promote that image! Just an act - a marketing ploy. Okay?!"

"No. Not okay." Her voice is calmer now, low, quiet. Dangerous. "Because, tell me Rick? Where does the steady girlfriend fit into this bad boy persona of yours? Gonna play me off as a fling? Pretend I don't exist? Never settle down because you're living a lie in order to _sell more books?"_

Kate's eyes meet Rick's, gaze burning ice cold. He looks stricken, gapes a few times. Chokes out a broken "_Kate, no!" _But she's already slamming the door to her apartment behind her.

She sinks back against the wooden frame, allowing a sob to shudder through her, vertebrae vibrating against the hard surface. Ignores his desperate pleas for her to let him in for as long as she can; and when she can't she retreats, burying herself under the covers in her bedroom, pretending she's unable to hear his begging. And she cries because that felt a lot like a break up, accusations and a realisation that she might not fit into his life anymore. She cries because she's scared this first real fight of theirs may be their last.

She cries.

* * *

Kate wakes up with a headache and a sore throat: side effects of crying herself to sleep. The feelings from last night are still there, but calmer now, subdued - emotions not running quite as high.

She trudges to the kitchen, sips at a glass of water as she makes her way into her bathroom, fumbles in the the medicine cupboard for some Tylenol. Knocks back the pills, only to bump into her mother in the doorway. Concerned eyes blink at her expectantly.

"What?" Kate mutters. "It was a party. They didn't ID me."

"Katie, sweetheart. You and I both know you left that party right after we got there - you want to tell me why?" Kate sighs, should've known better than to lie to her mother - nothing ever got past her.

"Not really." She grumbles.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact Ricky's asleep in the hall, would it?"

"He's what?!"

Johanna hums her confirmation. "He was there last night - this morning rather, when we came in. Had to step over him to get into the apartment."

"You didn't invite him in?" Kate's not sure how she feels about that - some part (quite a large one, actually) takes a sadistic pleasure in knowing his joints will be painfully stiff upon waking but to _leave _him there? Incredibly unlike her parents.

Her mother gasps in affront at her daughter casting aspersions upon her manners. "Of course we did. He declined - said he'd go crash at Martha's for the night. Which means he had his keys with him. Which means he had our key. Which means there's a _reason _he sat outside the apartment all night instead. Care to share?"

"I - uh - we had a fight. He was… respecting my want for privacy, I guess." Affection for him laps through her veins, soothes the burning hurt in her blood. "Wait - all night? You said he went back to Martha's."

"No." Johanna disagrees. "I said he said he would. But when I went to get the mail this morning." She waves the cluster in envelopes she's holding to make her point. "He was still there."

He's stupid, ridiculous. He could've come in and used the spare bedroom or even the sofa, or gone back to his mother's apartment just down the hall. But no, the man decided to sleep outside her door. Idiot.

The corner of her lip threatens to twitch upwards.

She splashes water on her face, throwing her hand through her hair to tame the unruly curls. Grabs her robe from the peg on the door and draws it tightly around her. Takes a deep steadying breath.

"Katie?" Her mother calls after her softly, even as she walks towards the door. "Did the two of you - did you break up last night?"

Kate closes her eyes for a second, wishing she knew the answer. "I don't - I'm not sure? I - God, I hope not."

Because they can get through this, right? She's not about to throw away a thirteen year old relationship out of the door because of one argument. Prays desperately he won't either.

She steps out of the apartment, swinging the door open only to have it ricochet off something and collide with her shoulder. A something that makes a distinctive sound of pain.

"Rick?" She looks around the door, is met by the sight of her… boyfriend (?) rubbing his forehead with one hand. The other massages the back of his neck, working out the painful kinks that inevitably formed from so long in the same unforgiving position.

At the sound of her voice he seems to forget his ails, jumps to his feet. He winces and she flinches as several audible _cracks_ resonate from his body.

"You shouldn't have slept out here." Kate's voice is flat, unforgiving - she hadn't meant for the cold to seep into her voice but apparently she's still harbouring a great deal of anger.

"I - I didn't want to miss you. If you left this morning. Didn't know how long you were in town for."

"Oh.

"Yeah."

"_Listen." _They both speak at once, look at each other expectantly but Kate flicks a hand towards him, urging him to go on.

"I hadn't really thought past this book launch, when they suggested it - I figured it wouldn't be a big deal. Act like a dick for one night." He swallows, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I never thought - what it'd mean beyond last night. For us. God, I didn't think. I can't lose you, Kate. Not for this, not for anything." He closes his eyes, as if trying not to cry and she's startled when a tear snakes from behin. Not _once _in thirteen years of knowing him had she seen him in tears. Not when he was mercilessly taunted at school, not when he broke his leg in the eighth grade. Not until now.

She can't help her move to wipe the tear away, the action set in motion before she even registers she's doing it.

"Rick - I can't ask you to give up your dreams for me. And if your publishers want you to act a certain way… I'm not sure how much of a choice that is. But I can't - just… if you're going to have to have someone hanging on your arm at these events - can it be me?"

"Staking your claim, Kate?" He opens his eyes, a faint trace of their usual sparkle there before the guarded expression returns, afraid he's started the levity too soon. Maybe he has. It's up to her, Kate realises.

"Perhaps I am." There's a challenge in her voice. He picks up on it. Grabs her hand, stares at her in earnest.

"Kate - there's no need, you know. I'm yours. Screw the publishers. I'm committed to you - my adoring fans need to know that."

"Adoring fans?" A quirked brow.

"Yeah. You know. All the people who will read my books. That will adore me." A smile makes itself known on her face then. A small one, yes - but a smile nonetheless.

"Seem to have made a few of those last night, I noticed."

He cringes. "Yeah - about that. Chest signing will _not _happen again."

"I don't know about that, _Castle." _Kate murmurs into his ear, pulling him close. "I think I've got a couple of sharpies somewhere."

"God - I - you - !" He stammers, and the tension in her shoulders dissipates. Then his phone is buzzing and he pulls it from his pocket. Glances at the caller ID and pales visibly - it's almost comical and she stifles a laugh until he shows her the display; it's his agent and he's got no less than 47 missed calls.

It's only then she remembers he left his book launch to follow her. To fix things. Fix them.

Maybe they've got some bumps in the road ahead of them. But they can get through it. Together.

"Hey, Rick?" Her voice is softer now. "I'm sorry too. I might have overreacted - but I just thought -" she stops herself. She's apologising now, needs to stop trying to defend herself so they can move on. "I'm so sorry for messing up your big day. So sorry."

He holds her close as his agent shrieks at him down the phone and she knows they're going to be okay.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm finally back in England, with access to reliable wifi that moves at a speed faster than glacial and to computers, so the final three chapters should be up in the next three days! **

**Thanks for reading!**

_A few years had gone and come around_

_We were sitting at our favourite spot in town_

_And you looked at me, got down on one knee_

They sit at what she has always considered to be _their _spot, those swings in Central Park where they'd solved faux murders (although maybe the site is a little tainted by the _actual _corpses she's seen in this very play area), where they told each other they were in love that very first time.

He's teasing her about her hair, the curls rendered wild by the unforgiving wind that whips around their faces, tugging his hand through the unruly tangles as she luxuriates in his touch.

His, to her more than slight annoyance, is still utterly perfect - not a strand out of place - and she ponders to herself how much product her boyfriend has used in his hair this morning. Leaning around the metal chain supporting the swing she swipes her index finger over his scalp, finds his locks to be stiff and maybe a little bit sticky.

"Enough hair gel there, Ricky?"

He pouts at her, the sulky expression betrayed by the way his lips twitch up at the edges. She rolls her eyes and he gives in, allows that smile she has only ever seen aimed at her to break open his face, eyes dancing.

"_Maybe _I just wanted to look my best today - important to indulge one's self esteem every so often, lest it lowers."

"In that case, you might want to indulge yourself _less. _That ego of yours has got to be heavy to tote around everyday." She mocks him gently, his self confidence a running joke between them before cupping his cheek and smoothing her thumb over his brow, planting a kiss on his temple. Because for all her joking and his cocky demeanour, they both know that he's less than sure of himself.

"Or maybe - just maybe - I had a particular reason to be extra irresistible today." She looks at him, finds something earnest in his eyes.

"Oh?" When he doesn't respond to her, she prods him sharply in the ribs with a little growl. She hates (except sort of loves it) when he does this, leaves her hanging in suspense, only to have it be something trivial and insignificant.

Although, something - a flutter in her stomach, the slight elevation of her heart rate - tells her this is more than a wind up.

"You know what day it is?" She scowls at his change of topic, humours him anyway.

"Friday?" She's a little bit confused - Friday is always her day off, and they wouldn't be here if she was working, so there's no doubt in her mind that he doesn't already know the information.

His brow furrows. "No, the _date? _Do you know the date?" His tone is insistent, hopeful.

"Yeah, it's-" She stops to think for the shortest of moments. "March seventh. _Oh." _ Realisation strikes her in the softest way, a sweet summer breeze in contrast to the near-wintry wind battering them in the park. "Nine years since you told me you were in love with me. Right here on these swings."

"And you said it back," he adds, one eyebrow raised. "Don't make it sound unrequited, now, Kate Beckett."

She shifts from her swing, stands in front of him and braces her knees on his thighs so she can kiss him properly, hands framing his face. "Nuhuh." The sound is barely even a breath against his neck. "Definitely reciprocated."

"Well, that makes things slightly easier..." His tone is tantalising although - is that a hint of nervousness colouring his tone? He stands, pushing her back down onto one swing.

_"_Things?" Kate asks suspiciously, lips a little bit pursed.

"Good things - you'll like things-" A shadow passes over his face almost undetectably. "At least - I hope so."

Definitely nervous, she muses, taking in his stilted sentences.

"Babe?"

He shuts his eyes a moment, takes a deep breath, renewed determination painting his face as his lids flicker back open.

"Nine years since that day right here; I thought it would be an appropriate occasion to ask you what I'm about to-"

And then her heart is in her throat and her stomach and every last one of her limbs apparently because she can feel the resounding _thump thump thump_ of her too-fast pulse through her whole body.

"... I know some would say that this has been a long time coming and I'd be inclined to agree, so-" And then he's sinking to the soft grass, on bended knee and she knows what's coming and it burns through her and _oh _she's kissing him before he can even utter the question they both know is coming and she's more than _aware _she should really wait until after (her chest thumps wildly at exactly _what _she should be waiting for); she wants him so badly, though, love for him suffusing through her so that she can't help but cradle his cheeks in her palms, crouched next to where he's knelt.

When she breaks away from him, finally, she's breathless from the kiss and the anticipation that's flooding her system.

And then he's pulling her hands from his face, clasping them reverently. He leans back, but only slightly; just far enough away that he can take in the entirety of her. He grins at her for the briefest of moments, that crooked grin that never fails to make her heart skip before his face falls serious, joyously determined and it feels as though the organ ceases beating completely.

The world is silent - no screaming children, no birds singing; not even the wind buffeting them gets through to her at this moment.

"Katherine Houghton Beckett-" he halts for a second, takes the time to draw her hands to his lips, gently brushing his mouth over the backs of them. "Will you-" Her heart is suddenly pounding, back with a vengeance.

"Will you go to Comic Con with me?"

She shoves at his chest with a laugh, because the idiot is speaking Klingon and though it's not what she was expecting, she knows him; he wouldn't wind her up this way not to follow through, he isn't cruel. Just infusing the moment with the playful levity that is _them_, making what she's still sure is coming all the more perfect in her mind.

So she leans forward and kisses him, tells him (also in Klingon) that she'd _love _to accompany him to the convention. And then she snakes her hand into his jacket pocket, chokes down the emotion that rises in her throat as her fingers close around a small, square box, velvety soft against her touch.

She slips it out, places it in his palm, presses her lips to his cheek before pulling back.

"Now, _Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle_ - you got another question for me?"

He did.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the stupid wait - my computer had a breakdown of epic proportions and it's just fixed and set up, so we're back in action.**

**P.S. This chapter taught me I can't write weddings. (I'M SORRY. I TRIED).**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Castle. Still not Taylor Swift.**

_Take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle_

_Our whole town came and our mamas cried_

_You said I do and I did too_

She sits sideways upon the stool in front of the grand pipe organ, peeks down from the choir's balcony that overlooks the church, the milling crowds - did they really invite this many people?! - and soft babble of conversation that vibrates through the room twisting her insides with delicious anticipation. And nerves, not that she'd admit it. Mainly joy though, the kind that spills outwards, pulls her mouth into an irrepressible smile, radiates out of her like sunlight.

She's marrying Ricky Rodgers.

Richard Castle.

Both of the sides to him, she adores. Her best friend and the love of her life.

She tells herself that if nobody hears the childish squeal that peels from her lungs, it has never happened.

The guests are taking seats now, wherever they so please; neither side of the room is hers, none his. The two of them have been a family for such a long time already that there really is no point in the separation. Her relatives mix with his friends, a seamless blend of people, laughter and introductions infusing the air with a sense of newness, cementing the step forward in this journey of theirs. The latest chapter in their story, she thinks, or perhaps the next book in their saga. And then she groans inwardly, as she does whenever she finds herself making literary metaphors. All his fault.

But then her breath catches in her chest, her heart a sparrow, fragile wings fluttering against her ribcage with a quiet strength. Because _he _has entered the nave now, makes his way down the aisle - marking a path for her to follow soon, so soon (the soft flitter against her sternum becomes a pounding crescendo and it's all she can do not to run down to that altar right this second) - greeting guests and shaking hands. She struggles to find his voice in the fragments of conversations that float to her from below but can't; and then he laughs, a joyous thing, unbroken in its irrepressible mirth that reaches her effortlessly. He's angled towards her as he tilts his head back, eyes shut as his amusement tumbles out of him and his smile cracks open his face, that million dollar grin suddenly priceless. Every trace of air leaves her body as she realises she's never known him this happy. And it's because today they are getting married.

She watches as he finally reaches the altar, no sign of wedding jitters - just the most serene expression on his face as he waits.

And then Maddie is shaking her shoulder, pulling her from her study of him. "Kate, it's time!"

"Stop making love eyeballs at him and go _marry_ the man, girl." Comes Lanie's wry comment, jerking Kate to her feet in such haste that she almost trips over her dress. "You're clearly eager to." She adds teasingly but Kate finds she couldn't rise to the bait if she wanted to, is mortified to hear a dreamy _clearly_ escape her lips. And then she glares at Lanie, who wisely says no more.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, she notes, drawing closer to the door that separates her bridal party from the rest of the guests. She stares at the arch of oak, heavy brass hinges waiting to swing open and reveal her to the gathering of friends and family who are in attendance.

"You ready, Katie?" It's her father's voice at her ear and a lump lodges itself firmly in her throat as she looks up at him.

"So ready, Dad." She doesn't realise how true her affirmation is until she voices it and her trembling body stills as she tucks one hand into the crook of her father's arm.

"My little girl." His voice is gruff and _oh _are those _tears _shining in his eyes. "I'm so proud."

She sniffs, eyes shooting to the ceiling as she tries desperately not to cry herself. "I swear to God, Dad. If you make me cry off my make up, I will kill you."

Apparently he's not listening because he pulls her into a bear hug, whispering words of love and pride into her ear until she has to shove him off to preserve the slightest semblance of composure.

And then the doors are opening, music plays, and the bridesmaids and groomsmen start down the aisle. As it's her turn to walk, make her way through that grand entrance, a sea of expectant faces gaze up at her. Soft gasps and murmurs of _such a beautiful bride _and other such sentiments reach her ears and she absently thinks she should probably turn and smile at these people who've assembled to support her, him, them. But there's no way she possibly can, her eyes fixed to the man waiting for her at the other end of the room with the strongest of magnetic pulls. She feels her body cant forwards, only her father's grip on her preventing her from surging to Rick and _why did they pick such a slow wedding march_?

The walk seems eternal, the aisle stretching on to infinite horizons except suddenly she's there, next to him and he's looking at her like she's a mirage in the desert, like he can't quite bring himself to believe what his mind tells him as he takes her, this moment in.

_"Extraordinary." _It's the quietest of whispers from his mouth and she doesn't think he knows she even hears but the word sends her body into a chaotic, gleeful riot because right now she _feels _it.

Her eyes dart round the church, spot their mothers already crying in the front pew, admire the gorgeous flower arrangements, vaulted ceilings and timeless stained glass that made them choose this place to be married in.

In this extraordinary room, on this extraordinary day with the most _extraordinary _of men standing just feet away from her - yeah, she feels it. Finally, she feels extraordinary, like the word he is so fond of describing her as fits, and she revels in it, in him, in them.

Her father's hold on her releases and Jim pulls Rick into a bone crushing hug, embracing his soon to be son-in-law who is already a child to him in every way which counts.

And then Rick grasps her hands, setting everything in her alight as he tugs her gently into position opposite him.

The ceremony is beautifully simple, tradition clashing majestically with the personal touches they insisted upon. It's over in the blink of an eye yet simultaneously lasts an age, the two of them suspended in the same delightful dream of a moment in time as the pair exchange rings.

Kate smiles up at him, finds her expression mirrored on his face and _oh that sweet man _definitely has tears gleaming in his eyes (and one escapes, snaking from the corner of his eye) even as there is nothing to do to prevent the happiness that spill out of her in the form of crystalline droplets.

She didn't know she could feel this joy, isn't sure how her body can cope without being overwhelmed by the emotion that brands her now, this feeling permanently seared into her consciousness as the most perfect of memories.

They're _married._


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm so glad you all seemed to enjoy that last chapter despite my reservations about it. And I'm sorry for this. Babies - I know they cry and sleep and drool but... babies... how does one write about those? (P.S. There's a good chance you will hate the names but I have reasons for choosing them sooooo suck it up).**

_Take me home where we met so many years before_

_We'll rock our babies on that very front porch_

_After all this time, you and I_

_"Rick! _Would you hurry up?!"

Her husband is just standing there in the entrance to her parents' apartment, tiny baby cradled in his arms and a backpack full of infant supplies slung over his shoulder. He's stock still and staring. At her. Which is still creepy, even if she doesn't _hate _it.

Anyway, she thinks he might be a bit more eager to get a move on if he was the one holding the squirming, screeching bundle of limbs, rather than the cherubic picture of innocence that is snuggling against his broad chest, sound asleep.

At her admonishment he jerks back to reality, quickly lurching forward, following her out as he shakes the remainders of his mind's preoccupation away from his brain, corner of his lips upturned. Kate makes a note to ask him what he was thinking about - but _later_ because right now their parents are waiting for them on the street so that they can convoy their way to the cabin in the Catskills.

As Rick oh-so-gently lowers their son into his carseat, not disturbing the boy from his slumber - and really, how _is_ the child still dreaming when his sister will _not stop screaming? _- her heartbeat speeds with that familiar wave of emotion, of _everything,_ that seeing him with their children causes.

The feeling is only slightly marred by the surprisingly powerful blow to the face from their baby girl's flailing arms as Kate wrestles the child into the safety straps. Soothing a hand over Madeleine's fluffy hair, she prays that the ride will be somewhat quieter than the last twenty minutes have been.

Thankfully, it is - although she fears the CD of nursery rhymes that seem to be the only thing successful in calming the child down might have driven her half insane by the time they arrive at the cabin.

She unstraps Lorcan before Rick can get to the calmer twin, lifting him in front of her and whispering, "Hey, Lore, baby - look! It's Grandpa and Grandma's cabin!"

Lorcan blows a spit bubble which promptly bursts, drool dribbling down his chin as he starts a low pitched whine that has her rushing to calm him before he can set Madeleine off - except, oh. She's happily cooing in Rick's arms as he holds her up, presenting the house to her. He's having a magic effect on the twins today, she wonders why that is until he comes near; he tucks the baby into his side and slings his free arm over Kate's shoulder and he is exuding such serenity as he pulls her into him that she feels peace smooth over her, dulling the jagged edges of stress that her first week back at work has caused.

"Love you." She murmurs into his shoulder and he hums in response, a non-verbal reciprocation, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Love us."

* * *

The babies won't sleep, no matter what they do - sadly Rick's soothing superpowers seem to have faded with the light. Johanna, Jim and Martha are inside, attempting to get some rest and it's a balmy evening so Kate nudges her husband with the bony edge of her elbow, indicates for him to follow her out to the porch where she settles on the bench swing. Within moments, the gentle rocking has the wails subsiding to pitiful whimpering, a while more and there's only snuffling breaths and tiny snores as the twins finally, _finally _drift off.

It's only then Kate remembers she had intended to ask Rick what had him so distracted earlier. Cautiously, ever so careful not to shift the little girl in her arms even slightly, she shimmies towards him on the bench until she's close enough to slot perfectly against his side.

"Hey, babe - what was it that had you all dreamy on me earlier? At Mom and Dad's place. A new book idea?" He has a tendency to get stuck in his own world when inspiration strikes.

She can feel his grin rather than see it, as he props his chin on top of her head. "Nah - nothing to do with murder. It's kind of sappy, in honesty-"

"When are you _not_ sappy?"

"Touche, Mrs. Castle." He sighs back at her (and seriously?! Three years on and she should really be over the rush of excitement she gets from hearing him call her that, but no). "It just hit me, standing in that doorway - that's where we first met. You all toothless and me - charming and handsome already - fated to become so much more. So much more." He lifts the arms cradling their son slightly to make his point. "We have this two incredible kids, and this amazing life together - and it all started at the entrance to that apartment. It struck me for a moment. Stayed with me all day how proud I am of everything we've achieved, after all this time."

"Twenty two years, would you believe?"

"I don't know how I've put up with you this long." He sniffs, mocking self sacrifice dripping from his tone. "I'm a martyr."

"Oh yeah? For what cause?"

"Jim. God knows what he'd have done if you hadn't been with me - probably have ended up with a life sentence for killing your first serious boyfriend."

"Well-" She pauses for a moment. Is worried to find that she can imagine what he's speculating. "Aren't you noble?"

"Godric Gryffindor's got nothing on me." He preens.

She risks waking the twins to thump his arm playfully.

"You _dork._"


	12. Chapter 12

**So this is it, the last chapter. I rewrote this today, unhappy with how I ended it before and I'm kind of sad to finish this little universe that I created. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and everyone who favourited/followed this fic or myself.**

**I hope you've enjoyed this and would be eternally grateful should you let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Andrew Marlowe, or Taylor Swift, for that matter - but I'd like to thank them for allowing me to play with their characters/lyrics.**

_I'll be eighty-seven; you'll be eighty-nine_

_I'll still look at you like the stars that shine_

_In the sky, oh my my my..._

She finds him in their bed, propped up against the headboard, a book cradled in his wrinkled hands. One gnarled finger is tracing over the words on the page he has it opened to, his face reverent as he gazes at the yellowing paper.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she shuffles over to her side of the bed, ignoring the ache in her hip that sharpens as she bends to slip under the sheets and the sigh of relief that escapes her as she sinks into the forgiving mattress.

"In a Hail of Bullets?" Every inch of her glows as she realises that the words he's worshipping are his dedication to her.

"Hm." He hums in acknowledgement, slipping one hand from the cover of the book, his first, to cover hers, nail scratching lightly at the skin around the rings on her third finger. "Where it all began."

Flipping her hand so she can lace their fingers together, Kate shakes her head slowly. "Not your first book, Rick."

Blue eyes shoot to hers in confusion, still bright in old age, still holding the spark that's danced there as long as she's known him. She can forget, when looking at them, about the papery skin and deep crevices at the edges; so young are they, so playful even now.

"Give me a minute," She leans in to him carefully to murmur the words against his wizened cheek, dry lips brushing over the liver spot at his temple before she shifts her legs from the bed again, slowly pushing herself to her feet as she makes her way to the closet.

Her hip throbs in complaint as she bends down to reach something at the back of the wardrobe, his soft "Careful, sweetheart," as soothing as any medication she could take for the pain.

She straightens with a hiss, one hand carefully pressed to her side as the other grips a leather-bound journal with the cover bulging that she's pulled from a box, secreted away in the depths of the armoire, behind the gorgeous shoes that she can no longer wear but hasn't the heart to give away.

This time, when she settles in the bed, she makes the extra effort to sidle right up to him, revelling in the way she still slots perfectly into him after all these years.

"This is your first book." She tells him, placing the worn book in his hands, watches closely as his fingers slide over the embossed cover, taking in the texture of it, as he caresses the ornate brass clasp.

"I didn't write this." He says in puzzlement, gaze breaking from the journal to flick back to his wife.

"No - well, technically, I did." She pulls a face. "But it's your book, your stories."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, when I was seven, my grandpa gave me this journal for my birthday. At the time, I didn't know what to do with it. Wasn't interested in keeping a diary or anything. But then, a couple of weeks later, I met a boy-"

"Must've been quite a boy, for you to remember him all this time…" He says offhandedly, but his smirk gives him away completely. That's one expression that hasn't changed in all the time she's known him.

"Oh, he was wonderful." Sincerity radiates from her even as she rolls her eyes at him. "Anyway, don't interrupt. I'm telling a story." She nudges him gently (she doesn't like that they have to do _everything _gently these days, for fear of breaking each other or themselves. A few decades ago she'd have been able to elbow him sharply in the ribs - in the most loving way possible, of course - for cutting her off). "So, this little boy told me a story - there were mutant rodents and lightsabers. And aliens, obviously. It was the best story I'd ever heard, so when he went home, I wrote it down in my pretty journal so that I'd never forget it." She leans across him so she can flip open the clasp, reveal the contents of the first pages, the childish scrawl with terrible grammar, the crayon drawing stuck in at the end with what looks like glitter-glue from the traces of it that creep out from the edges of the picture.

"You've had this _eighty years?_" Even now, after that long, the wonder and love that flood out of him as he looks at her take her breath away. "Just when I think I couldn't love you more…" Rick shakes his head in amazement, tucks his wife more closely into him.

"They're all there, you know. Every childhood game we played, every tale that you whispered into my hair as I fell asleep. Every bedtime story I heard you tell the twins, or the grandkids _or _the great grandkids." She flips to the back, where pages had clearly been added. "I used up all the pages maybe twenty years ago, but it felt wrong to start a new one. So I came up with a more creative solution in order to keep this one going. Had to get the clasp changed to be able to accommodate the extra sheets, which I was a little sad about but the guy I spoke to was able to recreate it almost exactly."

Rick's eyes are watering now, so she lifts a finger, wipes away the tears before they can fall.

"Your first book, and your last, and your longest."

"Our book, Kate. As much yours as mine."

Pressing her forehead against his, she nods, a content sigh slipping from her lips. "Our book. Our story." She pulls away slightly, lets the love she feels show, her adoration of this man who has given her everything she could have ever dreamed of and more. "I love you."

"I love you too." Comes his reply, words laden with the clarity of truth and accompanied by a spray of kisses dotted against her hair.

They spend that evening going through the journal, reminiscing over the good times (and the bad, though these are far fewer), reflecting on their life together. When exhaustion makes itself known, spreading from the permanent ache of old age in their bones to weigh down their eyelids, they lay under the covers, holding each other as tightly as their fragile frames will allow.

Together, as they should be, as they have been. Always.

* * *

_The New York Times, 29th August, 2080._

**CASTLE, Richard Edgar (****né Richard Alexander Rodgers) and CASTLE, Katherine Houghton (née Beckett).**

_Richard Castle (born 1st April, 1991), acclaimed crime novelist and his wife Katherine (born 17th November,1993), former NYPD detective both passed peacefully in their sleep from old age on the night of the 27th August, 2080 at the respective ages of 89 and 87._

_They are survived by their two children, Lorcan Castle and Madeleine Sheehy, five grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren. _

_Childhood sweethearts, it seems befitting that this couple, immortalised at Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook in Richard Castle's _Heat _series, should pass into the next life the way they lived in this: Together._

_In lieu of flowers, the family ask that donations may be made to the __New York Police and Fire Widows' and Children's Benefit Fund._

**THE END**


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